


from darkness promote me

by LorienEUrbani



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies), Thor: The Dark World - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, implied Hela/Balder, only mentions of Balder, only mentions of Thor this time - sorry, rated M for some potentially disturbing passages, the Hela/Loki is not really about them being in a romantic relationship, this work is a mixture of MCU and Norse mythology featuring artistic liberty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorienEUrbani/pseuds/LorienEUrbani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki died in Svartalfheim, but a bargain with Hela might bring him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from darkness promote me

****

__

_ For no one of men shall seek me more _

_ Till Loki wanders loose from his bonds, _

_ And to the last strife the destroyers come. _

__

(“Baldrs Draumar” _,_ from _The Poetic Edda_ )

_ “All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.” _

__

(John Milton: _Paradise Lost_ )

__

.

.

.

Loki had not meant to die.

He had been sincere in his seeming sacrifice, for his desire to save Thor was true and it was imperative to destroy the Kursed. The plan was simple, born of a moment’s opportunity and based on another clever illusion that would bring him liberty and perhaps even a throne, but Loki had miscalculated the power and aim of the Kursed’s blade.

The pain beneath his collarbone was excruciatingly real and his heart convulsed in agony. _Damn_ , was his one thought, and it quickly multiplied. _Damn, damn, damn_. Thor’s bellow filled his ears and Loki’s shattered ribs twitched in response, and in a small space wedged between the paroxysms of his physical suffering and the tendrils of death’s whispers enveloping his veins, he felt regret. He was not ready, nor willing to depart; not like this; not so soon; not with Thor’s face, screwed up with grief at the approaching loss, the last thing he would see. He was faced with the end of his existence a second time, but on this occasion, death caught him truly and snatched away his breath. 

Loki did it all for Loki, in the end, to get his portion of vengeance and to grasp at the first opportunity to be free, but he also did it for Thor, and since he was dying anyway, Loki had no qualms about telling the truth for once, hoping that Thor would know the meaning of his final words. Truth had always been a precious thing that Loki kept selfishly to himself, replacing it with lies, so that his true heart might not be seen, exploited and made vulnerable. Now, he was willing to show it. His golden brother –

in this moment, not Odinson, not once-brother, not false-brother, but simply _brother_ , as it used to be – may as well experience some peace and relief upon the death of the troublemaker. 

Loki’s throat tightened and he felt as if his heart had sputtered to a stop in his chest, a sensation that was wildly unpleasant, but not excruciating anymore, and he knew it was done. Before his eyes closed, he thought he saw a maddeningly pale, almost white hand pull his last breath out of him in the form of a curling, silver string. There was a flash of gray lips that sucked the string between them, and a hint of ebony hair billowing around a face that was only a blur. Even then, curiosity made him struggle one final time, but the creature hovering above him was stronger. The dark sky tilted as the white hand, cold and sharp to the touch, whispered across his face and forced his eyes to shut. 

In that short instant, so sharp and briefly vivid, he wanted to live more than he had ever wished it before. He was absolutely not done with what Yggdrasil had to offer, and he to the Tree. The regret and anger inside him flared like fire. Thor’s tears hissed on the skin of his face.

_ You are mine now _ , a woman’s voice whispered into the shell of Loki’s ear, the melody of her words deep and mellifluous. 

With those words, the world crumbled around him, taking away all sounds and sensations, and he became weightless. That, he liked. It felt good not to feel anything at all.

Loki was dead.

. 

.

.

And then, Loki opened his eyes with a sharp intake of breath. 

He staggered momentarily, surprised by the fact that he was not lying on the ground anymore, but standing on his feet. He lifted his hands carefully, stretching his fingers slowly, paying attention to how the movements felt. They seemed to him as natural as they had always been, but he noted that a greyness had settled into his skin, closing over the pores and smoothing the skin to glossy perfection. The sensation of breath filling his lungs remained, but his heart was quiet in his chest and Loki remembered that he was dead. While still alive, he was pained by the realisation that his existence was coming to an end, yet he was not upset by the fact in his death. Any kind of pain was entirely gone and that certainly was a relief, for the memory of the moments before his passing still lingered at the back of his mind. But now, they held no feeling for him, nor meaning. It was no lie, then, that death brought peace to the soul.

Loki lifted his head, taking in his new surroundings, understanding, before seeing anything at all, where he was. He had always known where his soul would find its final dwelling once his time had come and he would be quite disappointed, truth be told, if the Nornir had tricked his expectations and turned him into a hero, if only to make themselves laugh. For Loki had known, ever since the day he was first dubbed the Trickster, that Helheim would be his final abode until the time of Ragnarök and he had never even wished to change his fate. Helheim was reserved for the wicked and he had never wanted to be a glorified hero, the predictability of boredom of constant perfection entirely unappealing. 

Loki had been to Valhalla as a guest, to that hallowed hall that was forever described as the most beautiful and blessed of all the places in the Nine Worlds, but Helheim, he mused with a smile, was beautiful, too, and its kind of beauty, dark and slippery and silent, suited him much better. 

Loki walked forward through the thick veil of fog, silver dust sticking itself to his skin instead of wet drops. He put one dust-coated finger to his mouth and licked around it, curious to taste the substance, spitting out the rotten bitterness the next moment. Oh yes, this was Helheim, where everything had a tainted, rotten core. 

He reached the river Gjöll, the water oozing by with great slowness, as if it, too, was dead. The river was deep and dark, and it was dead silent, contrary to what its name suggested, and perhaps, that was meant as a jest; a bad jest, to be sure. He knew, however, that silence could produce the most maddeningly loud noise – shrieks of despair and useless pleadings of the soul’s wounds – and perhaps that was the hidden meaning behind the river’s name. The bridge arching over the river was a contrast to everything surrounding it, for it was made of pure, shining gold, intricate designs of ancient tales etched into it with great, alluring skill.

Loki crossed the bridge slowly without a pause, tracing his fingers across the gold the entire way. He was so absorbed in the amazing images that he did not notice the silver fog dissipating, revealing the great hall Éljúðnir, before which stood the mistress and queen of the realm, waiting for her new arrival. 

“I did not expect to see you in my domain so soon, Loki Laufeyson,” Hela spoke and Loki whipped his head in the direction of her sonorous voice, recognising it as the voice of the woman that greeted him mere moments before death took him. 

Loki had never seen Hela before, for she was forbidden to leave her realm, banished from the bright corners of Yggdrasil for a past discretion against Asgard. She had taken something from Odin and Loki struggled to remember what it was, for his memories of his life before death were leaving him. Curiously, he did not panic at the progressive loss. He was busy assessing the notorious lady of the wicked dead.

She was a spectacular sight covered in layers of black and green gossamer, her eyes purple, her lips a sparkly grey, and her hair a black halo shimmering around her head. Her skin was incredibly pale, but it was beautiful, for it shone like a river’s surface basking under moonlight. A returned memory flashed inside Loki’s mind and he understood why Odin’s own son, born two centuries before Thor, had allowed himself to become enamoured of her and be taken to her realm, never to return, not even after Odin threatened Hela most terribly, so that she would yield and return Balder to Asgard. Hela refused, having claimed her lover for the purpose of never releasing him from her side again, and Odin delivered his punishment. Hela could never leave Helheim again, kept behind its borders by Odin’s forbidding, powerful seiðr. She could only abandon her post in Éljúðnir when a dead spirit called to her, so that she could collect it and bring it with her to her domain. If she tried to abandon the spirit before she brought it to Helheim, in order to seek her freedom, she would become mortal. Odin had cleverly bound her to Helheim and her Helbúar.

There was another thing that had been done to Hela, but again, Loki’s memory failed him. 

“But I _am_ glad,” Hela continued, “to finally have you in my presence. The spirits of the dead that I have taken into my realm during these past few centuries have told me so many wonderful tales about your tricks and mischief.” She chuckled like a little girl, a strange contrast to her mature, womanly beauty. “I like you immensely, Loki, for you went against Odin and his remaining spawn, and I appreciate that.”

Loki cocked his head. “I’m glad I could please you, if only a little.” He shrugged, then curled his lips into a grin. “Unfortunately, my attempts have been cut short.”

Hela walked forward, the gossamer of her dress floating behind her like gentle wings, and stunned Loki by cupping his face with her cold hands and planting a kiss on his lips, then proceeding to ravage his mouth with sharp nips of her teeth and wild twist of her tongue like a berserker. Loki was too surprised by her actions to stop her, so he let her kiss him in any way she wanted. After all, who was he to reject the mistress of Helheim? 

Hela stopped her death’s kiss as abruptly as she had commenced it, and pressed herself against Loki’s body, looking into his eyes curiously.

“Do you greet all your dead like this?” Loki teased with a breathy voice, knowing his fate of a dead spirit had just been sealed with the kiss, but not minding it. So far, his existence after death had not been too hard upon him. 

“I should unleash my ravens upon you,” Hela said gently, as if in contemplation, ignoring his question. 

Loki stiffened. Hela’s lips had bruised his, so he knew he could still feel physical pain. He was not particularly fond of the idea of having Hela’s vicious pet ravens gouging his eyes out with their cruel beaks and tearing at his face with vicious, dagger-sharp claws, a fate reserved for those new Helbúar who had committed the crime of perjury in life. It was common knowledge that Loki was a keen liar; he was certain the ravens would feast on his face with utmost pleasure. 

“Oh, but fret not, Loki,” Hela spoke and placed a peck on his nose, resting her palms on his shoulders. “I could not do that to _you_. The enemy of my enemy is a dear friend in my eyes.”

“How magnanimous you are,” he replied and she laughed at his sarcasm as if he’d just told her a lovely joke.

“Tell me, did you mourn when I took Balder from you?” Hela asked, studying his face carefully. “He was, after all, your false brother for a long time.”

Loki frowned. “I do not know, my lady. My memory of that time has faded.”

Perhaps Balder’s death had inspired him with grief, but he had never been as close to the lost prince as he had been to Thor. Loki was barely half a millennium old when Balder vanished from existence. Afterwards, it had only been Thor and Loki, the brothers growing closer, even as they fell apart at certain points. 

_ I know that I am jealous sometimes, but never doubt that I love you, brother _ . The words echoed in his head, unbidden, persistent remnants from the portions of his memory that had remained untouched by the decay of the after-life.

Loki banished the thought, hating his mind for still remembering such foolish, sentimental scenes. 

“It matters not,” Hela said, the purple of her eyes blazing with emotion, “for none have loved him, or could ever do so, as I do.”

She chuckled.

“Now, Trickster Loki, where should I put you?” she asked, tapping her chin with a long, slender finger, and the tall, iron gates of Éljúðnir groaned open behind them, a chilly wind rushing through them and ruffling Loki’s hair. He automatically took a step backwards and Hela slithered her fingers around his wrist, tugging him forward towards the hall.

“Each chamber in my hall is a world on itself, wild and vast, and there is still enough room in all of them. But where, oh where, should I take _you_?” Hela continued and as soon as they stepped into her hall, the gates crushed to a close behind them.

Loki’s new existence as a Helbúa had truly begun. He had no past any longer, and his future was with the dead and Hela. It should be interesting, but it all depended on Hela’s next choice. She would escort him to one of the chambers and, upon opening the door to the one meant for him, she would send him into a dimension that would remain his abode until the final day of the Nine. 

“I like you too much to take you to _any_ of my lovely chambers,” Hela told him as Loki was taking in the dim, gray vastness of her great hall, which was a bleak, cavernous hall with uneven ground and walls dripping with a moisture he did not care to identify, crumbling pillars rising from the ground like the trees in a forest, dense and ancient. Yet there was an appeal to this eternal misery and he was not sorry to have become a part of it. Anything was better than the life he had before. Down here, under the roots of the Tree, everyone was a shadow, and every shadow was equally miserable. And that pleased Loki. 

Suddenly, Hela stopped and leaned against a pillar, every inch of it covered in carved, moss-garnished runes, pressing her hands against her thighs, frowning. 

“You know,” she said, forcing the words through the new tension in her voice, “I would have Odin and I would grant him a place in the chamber of the Halir. He would suffer so much in there that he would soon slit his own throat with one of the daggers strewn about and kill his spirit. He would descend into the cellars of my domain, into the Misty Hel, and his spirit would not rise with the others come Ragnarök. I have sent very few men into the chamber of the Halir, but he is most foul and would deserve such a fate. I pray to the Nornir that they might yet grant me this wish.”

Hela curled her fingers into tight fists and swallowed down a whimper, then flashed Loki a grin, biting into her lower lip until her teeth broke it. She licked her bleeding lip with relish and chuckled.

Loki stared at her in interest and surprise, pondering on her words and actions. He had no love left for Odin, but even he did not loathe the All-Father so strongly. And then, he understood. The gossamer folds of Hela’s gown parted at her legs and he fought himself not to look away, but to keep his eyes fixed on the putrid flesh without flinching or showing a trace of his disgust. Patches of gray skin were peeling off the flesh of Hela’s legs, blood and yellow-tinged puss trickling from the wounds and crawling down to her malformed, blackened bare toes. _That_ , he remembered, was Hela’s other curse, the second part of Odin’s cruel punishment. Hela remained beautiful and perfect from the waist up, but from the waist down, she was a decaying, malodorous corpse, her flesh decomposing and healing simultaneously, without a single reprieve from the pain.  

Loki felt enraged for Hela’s sake and he let that show on his face.

“No,” she spoke gently, hiding her shame, “ _you_ are most certainly not for the Halir, nor for the chamber of the Heiptir, where my furies would flog you hourly with their thorn-rods.”

“What is to be my fate, then?” Loki asked calmly, prepared to accept anything Hela had in store for him. Somehow, he knew she would not make him suffer, for his perceptive eyes could read the truth of it in her own purple orbs. 

“So confident,” she said and caressed his cheeks with the tips of her fingers. “You should be my champion. You should command my Fíflmegir, or torment the murderers and thieves in the chamber of the Eitr-Drekar. You could still be so perfectly wicked, even without your heart beating in your chest. I would _love_ to witness you like that, for I have only had stories of you so far.” 

Hela sighed and rested one palm against the quiet place where his heart once pounded in a signal of life. 

“How did it feel, my precious, to stab your own, if false, brother between the ribs and _twist_?” she asked and her eyes shone with excitement. “How did it feel to harm _Odin’s_ son?”

_ Not only Odin’s son, but of Frigga, as well. You had her tricks, but I had her trust. _

Involuntarily, Loki’s core shuddered, and he cursed any lingering sentiment that Helfeim had not drowned yet.

Hela sighed. “But my days of dark glory have been over for centuries and I have the King of Asgard to thank for it. I only have power in my own realm. You could not do any damage with the Fíflmegir, for like myself, my creatures cannot leave the borders of Helheim. There is nothing we can really do, is there, my beautiful fiend?” Hela said morosely and turned on her heels, making Loki follow her again by clasping his fingers with hers and dragging him behind her. 

“Except _one_ thing,” Hela added mysteriously, cackling to herself. “But we must not tell Balder, for when he is not in my arms, consumed with lust, he wishes to return to Asgard, and if he knew I could return his life to him, he would be quite furious with me, my ungrateful lover that he is.”

Loki understood well. Hela had the power to take life, and she also had the power to restore it. He had read about it in one of the annals, stored in Asgard’s archives, the entry to them forbidden to all but kings. Loki smiled, for if you were Loki, you did not have to be a king to let yourself into the archives and find any piece of information you desired. The library could only offer so much, after all.

There was a chamber in Helheim, mentioned but once in the annals from three millennia ago, called the Chamber of Líf. Its doors had only been opened once, only because Hela so willed it, and Hela certainly did not do so the last time someone begged – _threatened_ – her to turn the key in its lock, even after every soul in Asgard shed heartfelt tears for Balder the Golden. Except for Loki, he remembered that detail now, seeing its fraying edges in his mind. Oh, how he had wanted to weep then, but the tears would not come, his soul too stunned to send them forth. Everyone blamed him, cursed him, wished him ill; called death upon him. Had he not been a prince, known then as a son of Odin, Hela would have had her chance to take him much sooner. 

_ Don’t you dare tell them the truth. It must die with you, swear it to me, now, _ Balder demanded of him then, before drinking the poison to go to her, the dark mistress of death, unaware of the true nature of the woman after which he had been lusting. Even Loki would not know Balder’s decision, had he not come to visit Balder, to ask the besotted fool to return a book to him. Balder’s rotten honesty, his demand to keep such a dark deed a secret, cursed Loki. The entire realm believed that Hela took Balder by force, killing and abducting him for her eternal pleasure, and only Loki knew the truth. And what good had the truth done him? 

(What good had the truth _ever_ brought him?)

It tormented him so much that he could not even shed tears to save Balder, and perhaps, Loki wondered, only perhaps, deep inside, he refused to cry for Balder, for it was Balder who had put the burden on his shoulders. 

It didn’t matter now. He remembered, but this time, feelings did not accompany the recollection. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to recapture any memories at all, and Loki was looking forward to that time.

_ Unless _ –

If Hela was truly implying that she would open the doors to that chamber to let Loki through, she must have come up with a most wicked plan. Loki fought hard to suppress a delighted chuckle. 

The Queen of Helheim could not use her powers outside of her realm, but she had free reign behind its borders and even Odin himself could not prevent her from using them in her own hall. Loki was not feeling hopeful; he was _intrigued_. 

“What do you need, my queen?” Loki asked, knowing it was the right question to pose to her.

Her grin was feral and full of delight. “How long I waited for someone capable of the task, powerful and daring enough to accomplish it. Are _you_ the one, Loki? There are whispers in the air that the universe will end in fire, but ice is just as damaging and much more poetic, wouldn’t you say, my wicked darling?”

Hela caressed his cheeks gently with her thumbs and Loki smiled. “I will be whoever you wish me to be. My fate is entirely in your hands.”

A little flattery was always welcome, and he did admire Hela, her beauty, her power, and her darkness, throbbing and alive within her. He was near to understanding why even Balder the Golden had fallen at her feet, helpless to resist her.

“Then be my champion. I will give you back your life, if you promise to do as I command you.”

Loki tilted his head to the left in curiosity, shaping his dagger-thin lips into a pout of contemplation. He had never been fond of being told what to do, but he was willing to make an exception this one time, for he had everything to gain.

“And after the task is accomplished?”

Hela pinched his chin playfully. “You will stay alive until you die again. Then, I shall keep you forever.”

“What do you desire in return for your most magnanimous offer? Is there anything in all the nine realms that has a worth equal to that of a life returned?”

Loki tried to sound eternally grateful and humble, even, but he was barely containing his excitement. Death did not hurt; in fact, so far, it had proven to be quite a pleasant affair. A part of him wanted to stay and dissolve into a grey shade, but the prospect of life – of all the new possibilities that awaited him – was too alluring. 

“I only require one thing, my wicked one. I already am a queen of my own kingdom. I love my dead and no golden throne could make me trade my creatures of darkness for the garish light above. Keep Asgard for yourself, if you will. Claim Jötunheimr, too, if such is your wish. _I_ would only be _free_. _This_ is what I want, and you are the one who will break the invisible shackles that limit my power and eat away at my flesh. Once the deed is done, you are free to roam the Tree to your delight. There is only one other thing that I would ask of you before I reveal to you the task I have in mind.”

Loki waited, all ears, enjoying every word that Hela had spoken.

“Should you ever be in need of an army, to claim a realm and re-shape it in your image, I wish to be the one you call to your aid first. I have been kept from battlefields for too long.”

Loki nodded and grinned. 

“What is my task, my queen?”

. 

.

.

The act of resurrection was harder than dying. 

When Hela unlocked the ancient, dusty gates of the nearly-forgotten Chamber of Líf, Loki asked her,

“Why did you free the first and only dead spirit before me?”

Hela chuckled, amused and impressed by his knowledge of her kingdom. 

“There is no great, stunning story to tell, although I do enjoy the air of mystery that surrounds it. I merely wanted to test the extent of my powers, to see if I could only take life, or also give it. That is why I created this chamber. The universe was still new then and since, many of my Helbúar have asked me to send them to this chamber. But until now, none of them had anything to offer me. So fare well, my champion. Do not disappoint me.”

Hela bestowed a gentle kiss upon his lips this time and Loki crossed the threshold with determination, his spirit sinking into the silent darkness. The gates closed behind them and as they did, the blackness around him ignited, and he was on fire. Suddenly, darkness became light, and it was too much – too alive, too bright, too loud, and so, so hot, scorching everything that remained of him after his death. He wanted to scream and swallowed fire instead. There was no thought in his mind but of the heat and the white light.

Just as suddenly as the onslaught happened, it also passed, although it seemed that it had taken centuries for the torment to cease. He was destroyed entirely, before he was made whole again.

_ How do you best torture a Jotun? _ the voice of the Titan came to him. _With fire_.

Loki screamed and shuddered, his fingers raking through the dirt around him, feeling the need to anchor himself, the need to drift away still present.

The burning pain remained in his chest alone when Loki opened his eyes to the bleakness of Svartálfaheimr, drawing frantic gulps of air through his mouth. He released a fractured whine as the torn flesh of his chest healed, gasping as he moved to stand up and every bone in his body protested with aggravated pops. If this was a form of re-birth, then it was far from glorious and cathartic. 

Loki was alive again and he was not impressed at all by how he felt, battered and bruised, his muscles aching as he made his first new steps, trying to chase away the dizziness that had him tripping at the beginning of his journey back to Asgard. His own body felt foreign to him and for the briefest of moments, he regretted his decision to be returned to life.

The land around him was silent and exactly the same as he had left it, but Thor and the mortal were gone, and so were the Svartálfar. He had no idea what had occurred in his absence, but Thor and the Svartálfar were not his problem anymore. He had done his duty, had received his revenge by slaying the beast that had killed Frigga. Now, he had a new purpose and it was the only thing keeping him standing when all he wanted was to lie down and sleep for a century. 

The act of resurrection was, indeed, much harder than dying. It was such an effort to be alive again, but he clung to the knowledge that he would soon feel better, once the shock of having his spirit back inside his body had worn off and the life force he had lost replenished. He searched for his seiðr and found it to be weak, but it was slowly awakening, helping with the healing of his body.

Judging by the sepia sun hovering in the dark sky, he had been walking for almost two hours before he was himself again, fully healed and his seiðr perfectly restored.

He cast an illusion upon himself and slipped back into Asgard unnoticed, protected by the invisibility spell. The scout he intercepted and killed was a blessing from Odin himself and it made Loki smirk.

He would not leave Hela disappointed. 

. 

.

.

_ There was a body, my king. _

_ Loki. _

“For a while, yes,” Loki spoke with a smirk, dropping the illusion, enjoying the wince in Odin’s shoulders that the All-Father could not stop. “But I have returned. _Father_.”

The vial with the silver dust from Helheim had been nestled between his fingers since the moment he stepped back on Asgardian soil. Loki threw it at Odin’s feet without batting a lash, speaking the right runes that shattered the vial and sent the silver dust to roil around the All-Father’s form, seeping into him until none of it was left.

_ The dust will put him into his last Odinsleep, from which he will never awaken again _ , Hela had told Loki. _But he will know everything that will be happening around him, to his kingdom, to his people, to those few that he cares for. Oh, he will_ know.

The magnificent king of Asgard fell to the ground without a word, Gungnir clattering beside him. Loki thought that he should feel something for his once-father, for in the past, every Odinsleep rattled him, leaving him afraid for his great father, hopeful that every sleep should be shorter than the last. But now, Loki was not unsettled. He watched Odin without emotion, merely curious at seeing how even the greatest of men could fall so easily.

Odin would have had Loki executed, had it not been for Frigga’s intervention. It showed the amount of love, or lack thereof, that he had ever spared for his adopted son. Loki only had to remember that and the hatred came to him easily. 

If it had been up to Hela, Loki would have killed Odin, but he reminded her of a simple truth that he had spoken once before. The people of Asgard would not take kindly to a king who had killed his predecessor. This form of revenge was sweeter, for it would last, extending Odin’s torment until his life poured out of him naturally.

Loki kneeled by the All-Father’s side, smiling ever so softly. “I want you to know that I intend to take your form and rule Asgard. If Thor stands in my way, I shall end him, although I do have a suspicion that his affection for mortals will keep him away for a while longer.” He chuckled and continued, removing a silver strand of hair from Odin’s face in a mocking gesture. “When the time is right, I will reveal my true self to your dear people, but they will be my people from this moment forth and should they oppose me, I will raze Asgard to the ground and re-build it as I see fit. Don’t worry, you won’t miss a thing of it. I look forward to telling you of how I spend my days every evening. Grand tales of how I’m ruining everything you were once so proud of.”

Loki picked up Gungnir, enjoying the vibrations of its immense power, and stood up. “You taught me to hate myself, even when I didn’t know I come from a hateful, lesser race. You fed me lies and expected me to be thankful for them, the monster you saved to be your pawn. You discarded me when I still loved you and wanted to make you proud. I hope you are not surprised at my actions now. You deserve all of it. You are _worthy_...of my hatred.”

Loki teleported Odin to the king’s chambers, putting his prostrate form on the golden bed and casting a powerful invisibility spell over him, one that only Loki could break. 

“Fare thee well in your cage, Odin,” he wished him. “Now, if you will excuse me, there is a queen that must be freed from her chains.”

. 

.

.

“I release you,” Loki spoke and hit the ground at Hela’s feet with Gungnir, its might shaking her hall for a few moments. 

Hela opened her eyes and exhaled loudly, her breath hitching in her throat as she witnessed the wounds on her legs closing at long last after centuries of constant pain and odour. 

“I am free,” she whispered, letting the tears of joy run freely down her ivory cheeks. 

Loki flashed her a smile. “Do you intend to take a little trip now? The Tree has seen many changes in your absence.”

“Thank you, my champion.” Hela raked her thin, near-white fingers through Loki’s hair. “I am in your debt. Remember me when you decide to conquer. Queen Hela and her army await your command.”

Loki took her hands away from his head and kissed her knuckles. “Of course.”

Before he departed from Hela’s kingdom, he turned around and winked at her, eliciting pleased laughter from her throat.

 

“My lady Hela...thank _you_.”


End file.
